


intersection

by Marcia Elena (marciaelena)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:15:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marciaelena/pseuds/Marcia%20Elena
Summary: Alex is a ghost, but Mulder is still flesh. What is there in between?





	intersection

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the 'eXit Files' Challenge for The Cube, May 2002.
> 
> Thanks also to all the people who, in some way or another, inspired me in this: Ilya, Raietta, Sin, Logan, BombasticVamp, and Tyler. And last but not least, special thanks to Satina, for support in the wee hours of the night. This one is definitely for her.

_Noun: Intersection:_

_1\. A point where lines intersect  
2\. A place where one street or road crosses another  
3\. A point or set of points common to two or more geometric configurations  
4\. The set of elements common to two or more sets  
5\. A representation of common ground between theories or phenomena  
6\. The act of joining by causing your path to intersect your target's path_

 

You stand in the dark and watch him cry. He doesn't make a sound, and neither do you. His shoulders shake, slightly at first, then more violently as his grief deepens.

A sob escapes him all of a sudden, too loud in the vast silence of the night. She doesn't hear him, though; she never does. If you still had a heart, it would be breaking inside you now. Even dead, you feel yourself splintering, wishing you could go to him and put your arm around him, comfort him, cry with him. But you can't. Ghosts don't touch. Ghosts don't cry.

A long time passes before he raises his head and looks at you. The room is still dark, shadows whispering in every corner, yet you can see the gleam of tears in his eyes. The look on his face tells you he wants you to come closer, but before you even move he's getting up, long limbs straightening and reaching towards you. He's next to you in an instant; you listen for the catch in his breath, the hesitation in his soul, but they never come.

You come apart a little more then, sad and elated at the same time: finally, he has grown accustomed to your presence.

"Why, Alex?" he asks brokenly, his voice a mere whisper. "Why do you keep coming back?"

You lower your gaze from his for a moment, too lost for words. When you were alive, that tone would always make you shiver.

"Why do _you_?" You counter at last.

He just nods, understanding it all too well. His hand glides up as if in slow motion, his fingers extending towards your lips until they hover near, oh so, so near. You long for the contact, yearn for his warmth--but it cannot be. Never again.

You are dead. Starlight passes through you, shadows don't conceal you. You have no substance. And he, he has too much. He's your anchor, your mirror, the echo of every breath you ever took, the well that has swallowed every breath you will never take again. He is the fuel that made you burn. You are the fire that's consuming him whole.

This is the way it's always been between you, beauty and tragedy intertwined; like you, they're one and the same.

He stares at you, long and hard, his fingers still inches from your lips. "Is there no way?"

You stare back. He knows the answer to that, and still he asks. Every single damn time.

Hope is a terrible thing.

You pierce him with your gaze. He sighs, starts to turn away; you resign yourself, knowing you'll leave as soon as he exits the room. Until the next time he needs you.

"No."

The word is abrupt, and the determination you hear in it sounds much too fierce to be contained in such a short statement. But before you can understand what's happening he's turning back to you, stepping closer, closer, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to him, _into_ him--and reality is splitting, sundering, and somehow you find yourself-

-you find yourself inside him. Literally. Wearing his body as if it were your own.

Dizziness hits you like a hammer. Mulder's knees buckle, giving way under him--under you. You fall down, pain lancing through his body as he lands in a heap on the cold, hard floor. His lungs draw a shuddering breath, and you can taste it; you laugh aloud, startled, and the unexpectedness of it in turn startles the both of you. You laugh again, this time in delight.

You lie still for a while, each of you trying to familiarize yourself with this merging, this being that is neither you nor him, your thoughts meeting and retreating in tentative waves. You feel the heaviness of his limbs, the rush of his blood, the rhythm of his heart; you _feel_ , and the sensations are so overwhelming you almost panic. But Mulder is there, he's here, with you, and you surrender the last vestiges of your resistance with nothing more than a sigh.

Mulder's hands start moving then, pulling his t-shirt up, touching his stomach, his chest. You feel the heat of his skin radiating underneath his fingertips; it's strange, and wonderful, and frightening--you are touching yourselves, touching each other, touching. The intimacy of it is so profound as to make every other touch in each of your remembered lives seem flat in comparison, a mockery, a lie. And now truth is pouring out of you, into you, and Mulder shudders and you cry out as his roving hands close around his cock, his balls, pumping, caressing, silk and steel and liquid fire. You whisper, you moan, and it's both of your voices in the same strain; both of you arching up off the floor in ecstatic gasps, both of you writhing as you make love, love, oh, _love_...

It's both of you chocking as one of Mulder's hands grips his throat, breath failing, orgasm near, and yes, it's just like death, so much like it, the same, the same; and you can feel yourself start to float away from him, and you try to stay, he tries to hold you, but you're going fast, and you can't, and he can't, can't stay, can't breathe, can't, can't-

And with your--his?--last breath you plead, "Come with me-"

And he does.


End file.
